Ode to a Daisy
by A Starry Skye
Summary: In which a girl dies, gets reincarnated, and is looking to strangle the bloke cruel enough to turn her into Dudley Dursley's twin sister. This isn't life giving her lemons. This is more like life throwing the bloody trees themselves. /SI-OC/
1. I'm Who?

**Chapter One  
**

 _I'm Who?_

* * *

They say that when a person laid at death's door, their life would flash before their eyes. They would think of all the ugly and wonderful things that led them to the present, and with one final sigh, then they would depart the world, moving on to the great unknown.

Whoever started that nonsense deserved a nice, hard shove off a cliff.

This was Taylor's first thought as she finally came to, the memory of her death burning sharply in her mind. A Saturday evening, a bombing incident, an impromptu burial courtesy of fallen debris… pffft. No. There was definitely nothing poetic about the whole thing.

It couldn't be, when even her final moments were spent flitting from one unintelligible thought to another, not going through a lifetime's amount of flashbacks that could out-cliche the biggest of cliches—

Wait.

 _Wait_.

Here she was, going off on a tangent about the inaccuracies of death, and she didn't even consider how she was still around to do exactly that. Weren't dead people supposed to be more interested in pearly gates, long queues, and bearded men who stood ready to judge them? Where was _her_ pearly gate, long queue, and bearded man?

Something's wrong. She let her scattered thoughts settle further. Until she became whole, until her sense of self truly returned.

…

Okay, perhaps that sounded _too_ dramatic, but she did feel better in the end.

Anyway.

Judging from the way she wasn't choking from the air she breathed and the way she was able to shift her limbs without resistance, she was no longer trapped underneath several pieces of broken concrete. Let alone impaled. The numbness that she'd become intimately familiar with was also gone, if that brief flare of pain from pinching her stomach was of any indication ( _ouch_ ), and... _yes._ She was back to being a functioning, rational human being instead of a gibbering lunatic in her death throes.

(God. Never again.)

However, despite the overwhelming relief of no longer being in danger, she had to wonder:

Did any of it happen at all?

Hm. _Hmm_. Well, she'd died, or at least she thought she had until she was suddenly breathing again, so—yes. Probably? That didn't really explain the inky black surroundings, though. Was this limbo, then? The In-Between, purgatory, whatever people these days fancied calling it? Strange that she'd be stuck there, lying down.

Oh. Wait. Never mind. She was just experiencing the sort of blackness that came with shut eyelids. Thank goodness for fingers. And the sense of touch. Not so much for the brain that was still playing catch up, though.

Anyway, speaking of which.

She opened her eyes. She blinked, adjusting to the blinding, wince-inducing light. She…

Was pretty sure her world—and her stomach—had now performed a flip so ungraceful that gymnasts everywhere would double over in laughter. If they didn't cry first.

Pastel-coloured walls. Toys of all shapes and sizes, warring for space atop floating shelves, tables, cabinets, and the floor. Long, white bars that partially obscured her vision and surrounded her like jail cells, and overhead, a mobile that swayed gently against the breeze that blew from the only window in the room.

That's funny; this place looked less a hospital room and more like a nursery. In fact, taking into account where she laid and what was around her, which included a very comfortable blanket draped over her waist, she could almost swear up and down that she was…

She was…

Uh-oh.

Eyes widening like the china she'd sent spinning into the air a lifetime ago (for the hell of it and, okay, she was pissed at the time), she sat up with a jolt.

Well, not really. Her head weighed like a sack of wet cotton for some reason. She'd instead ended up lifting her body an inch before crashing down in exhaustion… which wouldn't do. Damn. Next best thing then.

She proceeded to wave a hand in front of her eyes—while wondering why her arm felt like it was made of jelly—

And let out what sounded like a cross between a squeaky toy and a choked hen.

Her hand. Her _hand_. It was small and chubby and pale. Not tan, not bony, and most especially not the size of a tarantula. Roughly speaking. And adding that discovery to the strange equation that she'd been computing since her regained consciousness…

Oh, God. It was all starting to make sense now.

Her breaths now came in quick huffs. Suddenly, being a teenager trapped underneath a collapsed building and waiting for a rescue team became a more appealing alternative. Never mind if the debris pierced through her and rendered her paralyzed from the waist down. It still wouldn't be as horrific as discovering herself as a baby with all the traumatising things that came with the package.

However, just as she was about to wish with all her might that this was just a really, really nasty dream, that this was not her current reality and she was instead being rushed to a hospital somewhere as we speak, the door opened with a faint click.

The next thing she knew, a blond, smiling woman was peering over the edge of her crib.

That was to say, a woman who should not be thin yet ten times her size. Or sport a smile so wide that Taylor's own cheeks hurt. Her eyes might as well pop out of their sockets at this point, too.

The woman bent down and reached for her, and her eyes grew even wider.

You know what? Forget it. Every limb in her body should pop off like a mangled doll right now. Because if the way the woman cradled her—and another baby that lay at the other end of the crib, apparently—with zero effort didn't undo her very being, her next words did.

"It's amazing how quickly times flies, isn't it? My sweet, sweet Dudders and Daisykins, both turning one in two months' time—"

She stopped paying the woman any further attention after that, and she didn't just do so purely out of disgust at the awful nicknames. Instead, she converted all the shock and awe brimming inside of her into something not quite tangible, but certainly more pronounceable. Something that only a person in her unique situation could portray.

Something that proved to be quite the stress-reliever, if only because she passed out soon after.

She threw the biggest tantrum in the history of humankind.

Well, sort of. She was pretty sure something cracked in the process, though.

* * *

Taylor, dubbed Daisy now and forevermore, amen, wasn't quite sure if the seven stages of grief also applied to reincarnated teenagers. Six months seemed too quick a time to cycle through all of them, and, well, technically speaking, she didn't lose anyone but her past self (her foster family—Fifth? …Sixth?—could go screw themselves, and what little friends she had were pricks whose antics she went along with for diplomacy's sake).

She'd gone through the motions, though, so perhaps they did? That roller coaster of emotions was no lie.

Hm.

* * *

Shock or disbelief: see experience above of waking up as a baby.

Denial: spending days pinching herself in the hopes that she'd wake up in a hospital room with a vase of flowers on the bedside table, preferably sent by her crush from History class. Also, just in case Option A was too mild, making an attempt or two of dropping herself on the head.

Said attempt was put to a quick halt after she was caught in the act, though. By the next day, the entire floor of the nursery became cushioned with pillows.

Damn it.

Anger: tantrums, and quite a lot of them. Anger at herself for frolicking on a Saturday evening instead of grinning and bearing her suffocating family, anger at the madman who decided to bomb the only decent mall in town that didn't choke shoppers with absurd prices, and anger at the world for being cruel enough to allow all of these to happen.

There might have been a broken vase or a window involved; who'd have thought that she had quite the throwing arm?

Bargaining: a sudden belief of a Benevolent Being, hoping day and night that said B.B. would return things to normal in exchange for her being less of a brat and more of a functioning member of society. And maybe being a nicer adopted daughter to her family, if—and only if—they stopped treating her like a sheep constantly lost from the flock.

If she heard any comments about her "lack of direction" one more time…

Aw, darn. She just ruined the bargain, didn't she?

Guilt and depression: skip. No one had time for angst.

…Oh, fine. If she must.

Picture a fourteen-month-old baby being unresponsive to the point that her mum and dad rushed her to the hospital, only to be sent back home because the doctors (whom the parents engaged in an argument so great that history books saw it fit to never mention) found nothing life-threatening. Picture said baby then doing a complete one-eighty in personality out of fear of what other dastardly deeds her parents might resort to.

(Unrelated: her twin brother seemed to have got the idea that she was doing all of this for attention and decided to throw the same tantrums that she'd been throwing. Guess who came out of it spoilt rotten.)

And lastly, acceptance: throwing in the towel because no amount of chaos and self-harm resulted to her world magically reverting to the one that she was used to.

Let's face it. Fighting reality was tiring. It was a waste of time, it was emotionally draining, and quite frankly, she'd rather her second childhood to _not_ be described as a veritable nightmare because that would make for awkward conversations during family reunions. Never underestimate the power of relatives to make a child want the earth to swallow them whole until everything blew over.

Not that it stopped her family from embarrassing her to hell and back.

* * *

Huh. It seemed that reincarnated teenagers could, in fact, go through the several stages of grief after all.

Of course, by then, one would wonder what was next for one-year-old Daisy. If the ranting and raving about what-could-have-beens was well and truly over, what now? What would a person such as herself fill her time with?

Knowledge about her new life, that's what. Starting with the name of her parents, and once that's done, the location of the humble abode she now inhabited.

Up next would be the current timeline she was on, because _wow_ the songs on the radio lacked the fast beats that she was used to, and then the appearance that everyone would associate "Daisy" with, and lastly… the identity that she was to develop in this lifetime.

Yup, that sounded about right.

Moping forever didn't seem like the ideal way to live a second life, after all. Best she poured all those extra energy into integrating herself into the society she now lived in instead. Which was exactly what she did as the days and weeks flew past her.

Almost.

But then, the more she managed to learn, the more she wondered about the extent of her situation's oddity. Think about it: it was one thing to have died and be reborn. To suddenly find one's self whisked away from the world, only to be shoved back into it with a new body and a new life.

But to realise that the world she lived in might not be as similar to the one she had a lifetime ago?

To put it most eloquently: ugh.

For example, during the day the family of her father's side came to visit, Daisy had learnt that her parents were named Vernon Dursley and Petunia Dursley.

Yes. Exactly. _Dursley_.

Imagine the look on her face when she'd realised that her parents—and her brother, by association—were named exactly after several characters from a piece of literature she'd read ages ago. It led to some quiet moments that nearly triggered her parents overprotective tendencies that bordered on hysterical, but she'd quickly recovered and decided not to read too much into it.

There was a reason why authors explicitly stated that any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, were purely coincidental, right?

…Right?

Except that it seemed _too_ coincidental that said Dursleys were also living in the exact location stated in the book: Number 4 Privet Drive. Her eyes had nearly bulged out of their sockets when the large sign with larger black letters came into her periphery during a car trip to London. The bloody thing had taunted her by the swiftness of its passing, and it was only on the return trip that she'd managed to confirm her discovery.

She was pretty sure that the sound she'd heard during that time was that of her suspension of disbelief dying a slow, painful death.

And it only grew worse from there.

First, there was the company her father was a director of, shown to her as a picture of the man himself standing in front of the building, the word "Grunnings" painted in large, yellow letters on the brick wall. Then there was her family's apparent obsession with normality ("Flying cars? What rubbish!"), the way her mother's demeanour grew ice cold upon any mentions of her side of the family, not to mention the way her twin brother grew rounder and rounder by the day…

And then there was…

Oh, good grief.

And then there was the day that cheerfully tipped everything over the edge. Flocks of owls found flying in broad daylight, shooting stars, men and women in cloaks, the one-two punch that left her gasping for air.

At that point, she might as well go through all the seven stages of grief again.

Right as she heard her mother shrieking at the front door below on one November morning, having discovered not an empty doorstep to place her empty milk bottles on, but the baby of the woman whose existence she'd refused to acknowledge. Until today.

Harry James Potter.

The Boy Who Lived.

…

Damn it.

Daisy Dursley, of Number 4 Privet Drive, decided that if anyone needed a proper strangling right this moment, it was the person responsible for the mess that she was thrown into.

* * *

 **A/N:** Alright, that was fun. I haven't written anything in a long while, so this was definitely a good way to get things rolling again. This is an SI/OC, as it says on the tin, but I'm looking to at least avoid the usual pitfalls that fics of these sort tend to fall into. Try to, anyway - I doubt I'm that good.

In general, I'm just looking to write something fun that hopefully any random readers would enjoy, too, so please don't hesitate to leave a review/follow/favorite if you liked the story! It definitely helps with the self-esteem. :D


	2. That Awkward Moment When

**Chapter Two**

 _That Awkward Moment When One Speaks Too Soon_

* * *

 _I_ _'m in Harry Potter's world._

As it turned out, having fantasies was one thing. Spinning tales of the sanity-questioning sort was another. Having fantasies _and_ living them, on the other hand? Literally, and especially without the universe collapsing upon itself?

Let it be said: no mortal being should be bestowed this amount of power.

Or curse.

Well, actually, it didn't really matter which it was, not when Daisy was too busy struggling to keep her tiny heart from thumping right out of her chest.

Think about it: it was shocking enough that her grisly death didn't result to a one-way trip to the afterlife. Now she had to be shocked about reincarnating into _Magical Britain,_ as well?

As she laid there, processing every single upended thing, her infantile instincts were telling her to cry. Out-tantrum her twin and unseat the throne that was rightfully hers, damn it. But no. No, no, no. She was Daisy Dursley, formerly a girl called Taylor, surname irrelevant. She was _above_ tantrums.

Have to think of something else. Something to focus on. Something that would slow her thoughts down enough so that she can deal with—with all of these with grace and finesse and—ah, there we go.

Pros and cons time. And a liberal amount of staring at the mobile dangling above.

Let's do this.

Pros: her room was as quiet and Dudley-less as could be, all thanks to Mummy Dearest taking her spoilt brother downstairs for breakfast while his sister pretended to be deep asleep. Being in the company of silence meant having her thoughts to herself, and that in turn meant that nothing would distract her from dissecting the situation thrust upon her without so much as a say so.

Not to mention being able to let go of the facade that she'd been maintaining since the day she opened her eyes and saw a nursery instead of an afterlife. Whoever said that she couldn't act her way out of a rubbish bin deserved to be kicked in the shin.

Um. Anyway.

Cons: there was still the chaos merrily ensuing outside her room right this moment, turning an ordinary Dursley morning into the epitome of utter bedlam. In fact, even with a shut door, the muffled voices outside her room were loud enough to make her wince. It wouldn't be long before Mum reached her sanctuary and wrought havoc.

Hell on Earth in the form of a woman who had an unhealthy obsession with floral dresses and neighbourhood gossip.

...

Right, this wasn't working.

Daisy groaned. She then she shut her eyes and shook her head.

A flattery of the highest order. A boon—given only to a select few, if not a single individual. This was how she wanted to see it. This was how she wished to feel. But when logic and reason had thrown themselves out of the window, it was hard to appreciate being lucky enough to live life a second time in a world that used to be a vast collection of text that took a life of its own.

Witches and wizards both good and evil. Wands. Sparkles. _Magic_.

On the other hand, this all sounded more like a setup to a punchline that she wasn't aware of. A punchline wherein she was shoved to the stage, script-less, so that the audience could watch her fail…

Or succeed…

 _Deep breaths, Daisy. Slowly, surely._

Sure, maybe she was the unforeseen addition to the cast that never needed one. Maybe she'd sooner muck things up than set them straight. Was that really reason enough to think that her life was now a disaster in the making, though? Especially when her blood cousin—cousin!—was enemy _numero uno_ of Britain's most dangerous wizard?

Oh, fine. It was, to a degree. But that was not the point.

The point was, this life should be an adventure rife with fun and excitement, damn it. Cynicism? Glorious angst? Hah! I scoff at thee.

Grin and bear it, then. That's what she needed to do. Deal with every challenge as they came, and look utterly fabulous while doing so. No reason to start treating her new life with the sort of seriousness that could force grey clouds into existence, even if her previous death showed exactly what could happen if she wasn't careful. Voldemort—and any other detractors, might she add—could sod right the hell off.

She'll be fine. In fact, she was going to do this reincarnated life thing so well, people would be moved to _tears_.

…Except that it turned out that this was far easier said than done.

Just as Daisy decided that the world was her oyster and lord help the poor sods who thought otherwise, Petunia Dursley, wearing the aforementioned floral dress, entered the room with a scowl on her face. She carried in her arms a baby, and she did so with… great reluctance?

Well, well, well. Did Dudley play with his food again, created a disaster of monstrous proportions, and for once, made his own mother _frown_ at him—

Wait. Daisy blinked.

No, that wasn't Dudley. Her twin was twice as wide, whinier, _blond_ , and very much of a kicker. This one was quiet as a mouse, sized just right, and wasn't shrieking at the top of his lungs despite the precariousness of his predicament. Which wasn't saying much since babies always equated to shriekers, but she digressed.

Therefore, by process of elimination and by consideration of what sort of day today was (not to mention by a glance at his forehead), the baby that Mum now placed on the opposite end of the crib was… was…

 _Oh, God._

So this was what it's like to suddenly meet someone famous in person.

Daisy's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as she stared. Thankfully, her mother seemed too preoccupied to notice it, but whether that woman's uncharacteristic, thousand-yard gaze was due to the fact that she, Petunia Dursley nee Evans, was now forced to raise a nephew whose existence she'd sooner happily ignore, or due to the recently-received news of her little sister's demise, or even both at the same time, Daisy didn't know.

It did stave off attention, however, and well, that was a good thing, wasn't it?

Muttering something about temporary arrangements and promises of making it up to her "Daisykins" in the future, Mum placed the sleeping Harry at the other end of the crib, gave him one last unreadable glance, took a step back, and left the room.

Several moments of peace and quiet passed. Finally, confident in the belief that her mother wasn't to return anytime soon and that _she_ wasn't about to have a breakdown herself, Daisy exhaled. She then sat up and crawled forward till she was close enough to get a good look at her sleeping cousin.

So. There he was.

Harry James Potter, in the flesh. Saviour of Magical Britain, owner of a unique lightning-shaped scar, and the one last thing she needed to see to completely erase all her doubts about her second life being an elaborate dream.

Suffice to say that the very sight of the boy sent her staring in awe. And sadness.

Because if her estimation was correct, it had only been several hours to a day since the boy lost his parents. Combine that fact with the tear stains on his cheeks, and she had her indication as to how much he'd cried while Petunia struggled to calm him down, seeking the comfort that his parents could never give him, ever again.

Didn't she used to be in a similar situation, spending sleepless nights as a child abandoned and waiting for the parents that would never come?

And just like that, it hit her.

So much for being the captain of her own ship, sailing for the destination called her ideal second life. She was going to have to assist in making Harry's life a more bearable one, wasn't she? Because she considered herself a decent human being with, _gasp_ , a heart?

Right, then. The game was on.

* * *

Of course, things never went according to plan.

* * *

She liked to say that she tried her best. That, unfortunately, some things were beyond her control, and reincarnating into Magical Britain didn't quite equate to becoming an omnipotent being who could change the course of history with a bat of her eyelashes. If only.

The assistance that past life memories provided only went so far, you know? Going through the motions of childhood the second time around was such a time-consuming, soul-sucking task that the mere thought of doing anything else made her want to curl into a foetal position and cry.

Imagine having to relearn everything because she'd been tossed all the way back to square one. Walking and talking again was suddenly a challenge. Using the toilet properly was akin to slaying a dragon. Feeding herself was a disaster of messy proportions, and reading and writing was like being forced to read and understand a road sign written in Japanese.

And if you thought that was horrible, imagine doing all of that while continually taking great pains not to let slip that there was something odd about Vernon and Petunia Dursley's little girl. Right to the point that she was no longer sure if her actions were still all planned out instead of born out of instinct.

And just when she thought it was over, school came along.

And teachers.

And bullies.

...Well, short-lived ones, but still.

On the other hand, perhaps she didn't try hard enough. If she made better use of her tongue and influenced Dudley's words and deeds, convinced Mum and Dad that just because Harry could perform a parlour trick or two, that didn't mean he was a plague set upon 4 Privet Drive, thank you and good night, then perhaps the nine years that passed would have been kinder not just to The Boy Who Lived, but also to Daisy herself.

He could've inhabited a room instead of a cupboard, for one.

Alas, there was only so much power to be had when one was at the bottom of the familial food chain. At least she managed to make Harry grin from time to time by cracking whatever jokes she could think of. That was definitely a victory.

Still, she could further weather the storm until she reached the age of eleven when things finally started happening and _she_ was in far more familiar territory, but then there was a problem—

The rapping from downstairs tore Daisy away from her reverie. She blinked, and for a moment, a wave of unfamiliarity swept over her.

Peach-coloured walls. A book case full of disarranged books. A single window. Assorted knickknacks both broken and intact. The bed that she was lying on.

What?

 _Where?_

But just as swiftly as the feeling came, it went away. She was left smacking her forehead and groaning for not recognising the small room which she'd inhabited for years now. That was to say, years after Dudley started amassing so many toys and trinkets that she couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting one of them.

Memory-diving; a dangerous business. Now where was she…?

Oh.

Right.

Her. The bed. And getting up from it. All in short order.

She threw her blankets aside and sat up. Then she yawned. Loudly. She rolled her shoulders, combed her fingers through her messy dark hair, yawned some more, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She topped the whole thing off with one large grin.

Now, that's one day down, and who-knew-how-many-more to go before the Dursley way of living was upended yet again. Brilliant. This whole thing wasn't an impossible task, after all. All that's needed was the right attitude to start the day with, not to mention a nice, hot bath, and—

"Up, you lazy boy! Get up! I shan't repeat myself!"

And... there went her enthusiasm. Poor Harry; it was barely breakfast and his day was already rougher than sandpaper.

It was all she could do to endure the litany of incomprehensible rants proceeding that. And as she rubbed the bridge of her nose, it occurred to her that her presence was going to be needed sooner than she'd thought.

Really. All this fuss over a boy who happened to have a peculiarity that set him apart from the rest of us mere mortals.

 _Peculiarity_. Daisy shook her head. No, that wasn't a pang of envy that struck her and made her insides go all twisty. That wasn't what made her wonder if she was being played for laughs by an unseen power.

Instead, that was awe. Pure, jaw-dropping awe. If that didn't feel true, oh, she'll repeat it until it was.

Except she couldn't help but stare hopefully at a rubber ball sitting by the corner. It was nine years too late for such nonsense, of course, but maybe… Maybe if she willed it hard enough, just like Harry did during the Haircut Incident, something unnatural would finally happen.

Like the ball rolling of its own accord.

"Hey, you," she said to the to red-coloured toy. "Feel like defying all laws of reality at the moment?"

The toy remained still.

"I could use a partner…"

Resolutely still.

"And you're the best one for the job."

Still no response. She frowned. She was about to call it quits, but then, an idea struck her. She proceeded to give the thing the most charming smile she could muster—the kind that made her pale blue eyes sparkle, her teeth gleam, and her parents melt at the very sight of it.

"Have I mentioned that you'll also have my eternal gratitude if you'll grant me this special favour?"

Alas, the gesture was as effective as getting Dudley to nibble on a carrot stick.

"Right… stupid idea. Thank you so much for your time."

Daisy sighed. Off to breakfast, then. Quitters never win, but her rumbling stomach took precedence. Doubly so for a serving of eggs and bacon, whose delicious scent now wafted though the gaps of the door.

 _Be still, my beating heart_.

Besides, there was no use fretting over what was not meant to be. If she was to be a Muggle her entire life, then so be it. Being dealt with a bad hand didn't mean the end of the world; it instead meant an opportunity to play her cards right through extreme cunning and one hell of a poker face.

Of course, she'd already fumbled by failing to tell Harry what he should have known since the day he could walk and talk…

No. None of that. That kind of revelation wasn't hers to tell, remember? Doing so would only make her feel all sorts of wrong, and, well, _come on_ , only a madman would want to ruin what would be one of the most memorable events of her cousin's life. It wouldn't be any different from purposely trampling over a bed of flowers. Or kicking a puppy.

Just be there for Harry instead. That was to say, be there for him as much as her circumstances allowed her. Subtly, ever so subtly, because despite whatever familial love she had for her family, they were prats and getting caught meant horrible things for her cousin. She could at least do that.

Actually…

Why not put all this pent-up energy to good use and actually do something nice for a change? Turn things around, and maybe even make up for lost time. You know, whatever made her feel less like a procrastinator and more of an active participant in the grand scheme of things. Get up, get up, and be part of the action.

Before Daisy knew it, she was nodding to herself and pushing the door open.

Time to see what today was going to bring her.

After breakfast, anyway.

She wasn't about to let Dudley wolf down most of the bacon strips this time.

* * *

She never realised that the ball she'd left alone had turned a pleasant shade of blue.

Among other things.

* * *

Breakfast was in full swing by the time Daisy reached the kitchen.

Just like yesterday, the day before that, and any other days prior, her family was right exactly where she'd imagined them. Mr. Dursley—Dad—for example, was at the head of the table like usual. His eyes were all over the morning newspaper, and God have mercy for the person unlucky enough to get between him and the large sheets of paper that she would sooner turn into paper planes.

After all, Vernon Dursley, being the big, beefy, and largely moustached man that he was, was a force to be reckoned with. In fact, he was so much so that…

That…

Sorry. That was a lie. She could hardly call her father a formidable presence after reading about how he practically folded into himself the first time he tried to confront a certain Rubeus Hagrid.

In fact, the thought made the corners of Daisy's lips curled into an amused smile.

"Mum! Daisy has that look on her face again—make her stop!"

…Right. And here was Dudley. Charming as ever, very much fitting Harry's pig-in-a-wig description, and also looking quite distracted from the food he'd been wolfing down as if his hopes and dreams depended on it. He was seated by the middle, and actually, Daisy couldn't imagine him anywhere else. Mostly due to the fact that her brother would be invading anyone's personal space were he seated anywhere closer to the left or right.

"Oh, Dudley." Daisy plopped down on a chair across him. "I didn't know that you cared so much."

She fluttered her eyes at him in an exaggerated manner, knowing full well what sort of effect this had on her brother.

Mission accomplished. Her brother threw her a dirty look. She then retaliated with a toothy grin. Unwilling to let that pass, he opened his mouth to say something that would have provoked a fight if heard by the wrong sort of company—but then someone else barged into the scene.

"My Dinky Duddydums does love his sister so much, doesn't he?"

Feminine. Baby talk. Floral dress.

You've guessed it; it was Mum.

The woman had been watching over the sizzling bacon in front of the stove when Daisy had showed up. Now that rest of the family was in attendance, however, the task had been relegated to an incredulous Harry Potter via a sharp look and an even sharper turn of her head. She wrapped her arms around her son and planted a kiss on his cheek, and then withdrew to give her daughter a radiant smile.

One that Daisy imagined herself retreating from with a hiss, like a vampire.

"And of course, Darling Daisykins feels the same way. Isn't that right, popkin?"

"Well…"

If love meant willingness to throw one's own brother into the nearest well for being a prat and a bully when both parents weren't present (or looking), then oh, yes, Daisy loved Dudley ever so much.

On a totally unrelated note, it turned out that emotional maturity was the first thing to go when a person like her was exposed to a tantrum-throwing sibling and baby-talking parents 24/7. Funny how life worked, sometimes.

A sweet smile was the only response Daisy could manage without expressing her thoughts out loud. Said smile threatened to grow crooked with suppressed laughter the moment she glimpsed Harry fighting and failing to stop a grimace from showing, and with the way Mum was now showering both her children with praises about how both brother and sister were practically attached at the hip, it was all she could do to give in and let it all out.

 _Especially_ when the mere thought of a close familial bond was more than enough to bring a tinge of green onto Dudley's face.

Thankfully, the food-filled plate Mum proceeded to place in front of her was enough of a distraction. It helped that the woman also turned away to happily converse with her father about whatever shenanigans their next door neighbours were up to. Something about treacle. And it flying over fences.

All laughable thoughts eventually disappeared, and now she was left to focus on her meal while fending off a brother who kept trying to sneak away some of her food when he thought she wasn't looking. Harry, ignored as usual, soon joined them and quietly ate his own meagre portion—

Hold a moment.

 _I did say it's high time I did something nice for a change._

A glance at his plate. A glance at hers. A decision made. The next thing she knew, she was elbowing Harry so hard that the boy yelped in pain.

Sparks flew.

Well, figuratively speaking, anyway. Instead, Dudley, having seen the way his cousin now gingerly rubbed his side, burst into laughter, so much so that he was clutching his stomach with one hand and pointing a shaking finger at the bespectacled boy with another.

For a split second, both Mr. and Mrs. Dursley looked their way with raised eyebrows, but then, upon glancing at their gleeful son and their smirking daughter, they decided that their children was simply having their own brand of fun and returned to their conversation without skipping a beat.

"Oh, and Vernon, if you think that wasn't interesting enough, you should hear about..."

The moment of distraction resulting from that was more than enough for her to slip her biggest strip of bacon into his plate without anyone being none the wiser. And just like her hair when it was given the optimal amount of brushing, her plan had been a smooth one.

 _Good job, you smooth criminal, you._

The relief she felt was so overwhelming that she would sink to the floor if she could. The last time she tried to perform any sort of kindness, Dudley caught her red-handed and objected nastily enough that somehow, it all became Harry's fault and he ended up a prisoner in his own cupboard for a month. Without visitation rights.

That wasn't the sort of experience she'd want an encore of.

"Daisy?" Harry said, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at his food. "Did you—"

"I'd go back finishing your breakfast if I were you," Daisy said, barely looking at him. She casually slipped into her mouth the last few bits of her meal. "And don't ask questions. What you see is what you get."

Thank her lucky stars that Harry decided not to pursue whatever thought had sprung up inside his head.

"Er, right," Harry said. "Thanks."

"For elbowing you?" She shook her head and smiled. This time, she gazed at his green eyes. "You clearly need more sleep, Harry."

The rest of the morning passed by without further fanfare. Soon enough, everyone would be going about their business, whatever it may be (though it being the weekend meant fun and games for the Dursley twins and boring chores for Harry), and the day would come to pass in the same mundane manner as it had for the past several years. Whenever Harry's accidental magic didn't spice up life, anyway.

Perhaps it was that line of thinking that caused today to have a respite from the usual pattern.

That had to be the explanation as to why Daisy later found herself slamming shut the door behind her, mouth open, eyes wide, and unable to string coherent thoughts together.

It wasn't every day that a ten-year-old girl returned to her room to find everything—and she meant _everything_ —coloured in sky blue.

* * *

 **A/N:** Ooooookay. First of all, I'd like to apologize for the insane amount of time it took to push this chapter out. This one kind of took several rewrites before I decided it's readable enough to see the light of day. I also want to promise that this won't happen again, but with work and other real life responsibilities keeping me busy, it's hard to say how often I have time to write. This story hasn't been abandoned though, so I definitely want to work on this one as often as I can.

Now, in regards to the story itself, I probably should be more thorough with the childhood phase, what with this being a reincarnation fic and all, but... argh, it was either I accidentally drag out the whole thing to the point that we _never_ reach Hogwarts, or, well, I skip to a more relevant point in time and just fill the gaps along the way. The latter sounded more appealing, so here we are.

Finally, please don't hesitate to let me know what you think in a review! Silence is also fine, but feedback definitely lets me know if there's something I missed or need to improve upon (for instance, while I _think_ my grasp of English is more than decent for a non-native speaker, I might still be doing something wrong). I still have a long way to go, that's for sure. :D


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